


When Needs Must

by loves_books



Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal finds himself becoming increasingly frustrated by the way Face is so needy when they are at home, and one night he snaps and pushes his lover away. Will Face be able to give Hannibal the space he craves, and will Hannibal finally be happy if he does?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Needs Must

The moment they walk through their front door, it happens. Hannibal is so used to it by now that it shouldn’t bother him, but it does. He can almost count down the seconds until it happens, until the rest of the world is locked out and Face can finally reach out to him. Until his boy can indulge his need to hold Hannibal, to touch him, to be close to him in a way that he simply can’t be elsewhere.

It shouldn’t bother him, and he hates the fact that it does. On base, Face is nothing but professional, well, as professional as Face ever gets, at least – he’s insubordinate to just about everyone but Hannibal, full of cocky retorts to career officers and flirty little comments to anyone in a skirt, but he’s nothing but respectful towards his colonel. It’s a dance they’ve long since perfected, keeping up appearances and giving nothing away about their secret relationship.

Face is a master con artist, and he’s more than skilled at walking the fine line necessary to avoid giving anyone the wrong impression about the true relationship between Colonel Smith and Lieutenant Peck. If anything, it’s Hannibal who sometimes slips up when they are on base. 

Sat around a meeting table, it is Hannibal’s hand that will tend to reach out for Face’s thigh, squeezing ever so gently and stroking higher, relishing the look on his lover’s face as he tries not to squirm with pleasure. Walking down a corridor, it is Hannibal who will give in to the urge to pull Face into a stationery cupboard for a few minutes of frantic making out, despite his lover’s half-hearted protests. Face is the sensible one when they are on base, as strange as that might sound to anyone who knows them. Face is the one who usually manages to keep his distance, while Hannibal is the one who has to find a way to touch, the one who needs to touch.

But once they get home, to the little four-bedroom off-base house they share with Murdock and BA when they are in the States rather than on a mission, it’s a different story. The moment they get inside, something seems to snap inside Face. All that self-control he’s shown during the day, during training sessions and meetings and briefings, all the moments when he’s been the one to pull away from Hannibal’s reaching hands, is gone. And it shouldn’t bother Hannibal, he knows it shouldn’t. But it does.

Face grabs Hannibal’s hand once he hangs up his coat, long fingers wrapping around Hannibal’s and squeezing tightly as they walk through to the kitchen. Arms sneaking around Hannibal’s waist for a cuddle as he makes coffee. Following Hannibal into the bedroom when he goes for a fresh shirt, talking all the time, just easy chatter, comfortable chatter. As soon as Hannibal sinks into his favourite chair with a book or a newspaper, Face perches on the arm by his side, gradually creeping into the chair and practically sitting in Hannibal’s lap, settling his head on Hannibal’s chest with a contented little sigh.

It isn’t every minute of every day. It isn’t as if Face simply can’t do anything without Hannibal when they aren’t on base, but it is consistent that he seeks him out, needing that contact. Face might go for a run with Murdock, but the second the pair return Face will find Hannibal and beg silently for a hug or a kiss. He might be working on something with BA out in the garage, but every few minutes Face will reappear in the house for some transparent reason – a forgotten pen, perhaps, or a sudden need to wash his hands – and he’ll be back by Hannibal’s side.

It shouldn’t bother Hannibal, he knows it shouldn’t. It’s not as if this is a new thing. Face has been like this for as long as he’s known the kid, since long before they were lovers. He’s like it with Murdock and BA too to a lesser extent, clearly relishing every little fist-bump and arm placed around his shoulders, and in fact he’s like it with everyone really – Face is a tactile person, and he thrives on physical contact. Little things matter to Face, and Hannibal can see the way his boy lights up at every touch. It shouldn’t bother him.

Knowing what little he knows about his lover’s past, he feels even more guilty for letting it bother him the way it does. He knows Face had a difficult childhood, in and out of foster care and children’s homes, and while he’s never had that conversation with his lover out loud, he suspects that cuddles and gentle touches were few and far between for Face growing up. Hannibal had a blessed childhood, he knows, a loving and supportive family who gave him everything he needed to make a success of his life. 

He remembers cuddling up with his Mother when he was a little boy, remembers her reading to him before he went to sleep. He remembers the thrill he used to get when his Father would clap him on the shoulder and tell him he’d done well. Remembers falling asleep in a heap with his older brother when they were both just kids, a jumble of arms and legs. But Face never had that – is it any wonder he seems to need a little more physical contact and attention now, when he is safe and secure in a loving relationship?

And it is a loving relationship. Hannibal loves Face with all his heart, even if he’s still in awe of the fact that Face loves him back. His boy is brilliant, generous, passionate and funny. He is breathtakingly handsome, yes, but he has an inner beauty too, even if Hannibal won’t ever say that out loud for fear of sounding like a love-struck teenage girl. Face is determined and he is a survivor, and he is always so incredibly positive despite some of the shit he’s been through in his life. He is also cocky and smug at times, and he can still be a complete brat, but Hannibal loves him for that too. Most of the time, at least. They’ve been together for nearly ten years at this point, and every day together is a blessing, especially doing the jobs they do, risking their lives on dangerous missions. 

On a mission, on deployment, it doesn’t bother Hannibal so much. Mostly because it doesn’t happen as often: when they are working, they are not John and Temp, they are Colonel Smith and Lieutenant Peck. They had that talk back when they first became a couple, and they both agreed the job always has to come first. Simply no other way for it to work, no other way for Hannibal to make the decisions he has to make, for them to each risk what they do. Even when they went from a full team to a select little unit of just two, they were always careful to draw a line between their personal and professional lives. Now, with Murdock and BA completing their team, they still don’t let things get personal between them when they are on deployment. 

Unless they are cuddling together for warmth, or zipping their sleeping bags together for more space. But then it is often Hannibal who reaches for Face, pulling his lover’s long body as close as he can. Cherishing every moment together, just in case their time together is cut brutally short. But they don’t talk about that possibility, they can’t.

So Hannibal wonders, not for the first time, why it bothers him so much when they are home. Surely home is the one place Face should be able to reach out for Hannibal, and Hannibal should be glad to shower his boy with all the little physical touches he needs. Should be glad to soak up every possible minute in his lover’s presence, safely away from the prying eyes of the Army or the bullets of their enemies. 

But instead, he finds himself craving space. Craving silence. He would love to be able to make himself a quiet cup of coffee without suddenly finding a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist. He’d love to be able to smoke a peaceful cigar out on the decking without a warm body pressed to his side. Reading a book or a newspaper would be so much easier without Face trying to slide onto the chair next to him, and the constant chatter does his head in sometimes, though he loves the sound of his boy’s voice. 

He hates himself for feeling like this. Hates himself for gritting his teeth when Face snuggles close to him on the sofa when they are watching a film. Hates himself for tuning out when Face is talking to him about something he’d read in a magazine, something that would normally interest him if it wasn’t for the fact he was trying to read a magazine of his own. Hates himself for burying his hands into his pockets so Face can’t hold his hand – of course, that just gives Face an opportunity to slide his own hand deep in Hannibal’s pockets instead.

It shouldn’t bother him, and it never used to. All these years he’s just accepted it, expected it in fact – at home, when they are off-base and alone, or just in the company of the only two men who know the truth about their relationship, Face turns into a needy, clingy creature who doesn’t want to leave Hannibal’s side for longer than a few minutes. It isn’t new, but the fact that it bothers him has been creeping up on him for a while now.

Maybe he’s just getting old.

He doesn’t mean to say anything, though. No way to tell Face his feelings without upsetting his boy, no way to try to redefine their relationship after all these years, not without crushing Face. He’s more sensitive than he appears, Hannibal knows, hiding behind all his masks and cons. He’s strong, yes, in every way that matters, but in matters of the heart Face is truly a sensitive soul, slow to trust and careful with his love. Hannibal would never do anything to hurt his lover, not willingly, not even with a gun to his head.

Or so he thinks.

Everything comes pouring out of him one night, after a long and difficult week spent training one of the most useless bunch of new recruits Hannibal has ever seen in all his years in the Army. How some of them ever made it out of Basic is beyond him – they can barely shoot a weapon straight, let alone find their way during the wilderness training, and as for running the obstacle course… Useless, completely and utterly useless, and Hannibal had had some strong words for General Morrison when they’d finally made it back to Benning. Thank goodness his team are off to Iraq next week. They could all use a few months out on their own, running some good old-fashioned black ops, away from the rules and expectations of life on base.

So he’s exhausted when they all finally pile back into the house, they all are. All he wants is a steaming hot shower, a strong mug of coffee and perhaps a light dinner, then a quiet evening with a book before taking his boy to bed and making love with him until they both pass out. 

But Face is right there, close by his side. And yes, the shared shower is nice enough, nothing at all wrong with having a warm, wet, soapy Face in his arms. But then Face hangs off Hannibal’s arm while they potter around in the kitchen, following him outside when he steps out for a cigar, chattering on in his exhausted voice about how good it is to be home, sitting as close as possible by Hannibal’s side as they sit at the table and eat soup and toasted sandwiches, legs pressed together from hip to ankle. Every inch of Hannibal’s skin is itching to pull away, just needing some breathing space, just a bit, just for a minute, but he grits his teeth and stays still. Face needs this, right? And it shouldn’t bother him.

After they’ve eaten, Hannibal’s nerves are completely at breaking point, and he snatches up his book gladly when Face finally leaves his side to follow Murdock up to his room, something about a new videogame they’ve been dying to try out. BA vanishes in the direction of the garage, just for a change, leaving Hannibal to stretch out happily in his big, comfortable armchair, feet up on the coffee table, a small tumbler of whiskey resting on the arm of the chair, and his book in his hands. He can hear Murdock and Face upstairs, the sounds of some shoot-‘em-up game drifting dimly through the house. He can hear banging from the garage, metal on metal as BA finds something to tinker with until his exhaustion takes over. All his boys safe, and some time by himself after a week of being The Colonel – Hannibal sighs contentedly and opens his book, starting to lose himself once more in the power of a good novel.

It doesn’t last, of course. Barely half an hour passes before there are footsteps on the stairs, though Hannibal doesn’t register them at first, sipping his whiskey as he turns the page. A shadow in the doorway, then a soft voice asking, “Good book, boss?”

“Hmm,” he answers faintly, nodding but not looking up. “It’s a good one, kid. I’m gonna finish this chapter before bed.”

“Cool.” And Hannibal hopes Face will take the hint, hopes his boy will just turn and head back up to play with Murdock, or go and wait for him in their bedroom. But no, he should have known better – those footsteps pad quietly across the room to his side, and Face perches himself on the arm of the chair, lifting Hannibal’s whiskey out of the way as he does so, leaning over to put it on the coffee table.

“Face, I’m reading, just…”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Face whispers, already sliding into the chair and trying to lift Hannibal’s arm up and over his own shoulders. “I’m just gonna cuddle in here. I hate not being able to do this when we’re out with all the baby soldiers.”

He doesn’t consciously choose to resist, but Hannibal tenses his arm so his boy can’t get underneath, holding tightly onto his book with white knuckles. “Face, don’t – ” 

“C’mon, Hannibal, just let me in. I’ll be quiet. Please?” A note of confusion in Face’s voice – Hannibal always lets him do this, never complains, and maybe that’s been a mistake all these years. “Hannibal? What…?”

“Go play with Murdock, kid. Or see what BA’s doing. Or go to bed – just give me some space, okay?” The moment the words are out of his mouth, Hannibal regrets them. Face goes completely still, long fingers still wrapped around Hannibal’s upper arm but no longer tugging at him. Finally looking up from his book, Hannibal can see confusion and hurt in those bright blue eyes he loves so much, but he’s started now, so he might as well carry on. “You’ve been all over me tonight – you’re always all over me the moment we get home, you barely leave my side! For goodness sake, Face, you’re a grown man, go amuse yourself for a while and leave me alone. I need some space.”

“John?” Face’s voice is barely a whisper as he drops his hands away, still half in the chair and half out. He nods, slowly, obviously trying to figure things out. “Okay, you need some space tonight, I get it. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Not just tonight, kid.” Hannibal carefully puts his bookmark in place, not wanting to lose his place, then sits up a little straighter as Face climbs out of the chair to stand by his side instead. “You have no idea, do you? The way you cling to me when we’re in this house; you follow me around like a puppy, you never stop talking. Holding my hand all the time, all the cuddles – Face, it’s suffocating!”

That last word seems to ring in the air, and Hannibal realises that’s exactly what he’s been feeling. Suffocated. As if he can’t take a deep breath because Face is right there, all the time. 

Face opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again. He looks almost heartbroken for a second, but then his features go carefully blank – a mask sliding into place, one of the kid’s cons. He nods again, dropping his chin to his chest, folding his arms loosely and shifting from foot to foot. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, barely a whisper. “All these years? I’ve been suffocating you for years, and you never said anything?”

“How could I?” Hannibal is getting into his stride now, and he can hear his voice getting louder. “It’s like you don’t even know you’re doing it. Every minute we’re in the house, every second… You seem to manage on base without crawling all over me, so why do you do it here?”

“I… I don’t know.” Face is frozen in place now, not moving a single muscle. “I guess I thought, maybe, you wanted me around. But you don’t?” It’s a question, but Hannibal doesn’t even know how to begin to answer that.

“Dammit, Face… What do you want me to say?” Hannibal rubs both hands over his face, feeling the exhaustion hitting him harder now. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. “Just back off a bit. I love you, kid, more than anything. But I need some space.”

“You’re not breaking up with me?” No emotion at all in Face’s voice now as he asks that ridiculous question, which should set alarm bells ringing. But it doesn’t. Hannibal is too tired and wrung out for that right now – all he wants it to get this over with and get back to reading his book quietly. 

“Never, kid. Don’t even think that – ”

“Good.” Face doesn’t let him finish, and Hannibal just watches as his lover suddenly straightens up and turns away, walking towards the door. “Enjoy your book. I’ll see you in bed whenever you’re done.”

In the silence that follows, Hannibal debates calling Face back, trying to explain himself more. He could perhaps have phrased things a little better. He wonders, in fact, if he should just take everything back, apologise for being such a grump and take his boy to bed, but then he heaves a sigh and settles back in his chair. Quiet again, just as he wanted, and space. No chatter, no warm body wrapped around his own, no trying to fit two grown men in a chair meant for one. Face took that well actually, Hannibal reflects, no screaming or shouting, not really any questions either. No temper tantrum at being refused a cuddle. 

Maybe he should have done this years ago.

And Hannibal picks up his book, reopening it and reclaiming his whiskey from the coffee table. Despite his tiredness, despite the ache in his muscles from a hard week of work, this is just heaven. Murdock comes down briefly to grab a glass of water, calling a quick goodnight through the door of the living room, and a little while later BA drifts back out of the garage, wiping his oily hands on an equally oily rag, heading straight upstairs to bed himself. Face doesn’t reappear, and Hannibal loses track of time, caught up in his novel – the clock is just turning midnight when he finally puts down his book and heads up to bed, almost three hours after Face had left him in peace.

His lover is asleep when he creeps into the room, curled up on his side, but Face is a very light sleeper, always has been, and he stirs as Hannibal slides carefully into bed beside him. “John?” comes the sleepy little murmur as blue eyes crack open, and Hannibal leans in to capture those perfect lips in a gentle kiss, stroking one hand slowly up his lover’s spine.

The soft kiss quickly turns into something more, Face wrapping sleep-heavy arms around Hannibal’s body and tugging him closer, rolling onto his back and parting his legs in an unmistakeable invitation. It’s an invitation Hannibal can never resist, and they make slow sweet love right there in their large bed, Face’s body so pliant and giving after sleep, Hannibal’s so needy after a week where they couldn’t do this, sleeping in tents surrounded by young soldiers. It’s both apology and forgiveness, he thinks to himself, and simply perfect.

But when it’s over, when they’ve both shuddered apart in bliss, and when Hannibal has slipped from the bed briefly to grab a washcloth and clean both their bodies, Face doesn’t fold himself into Hannibal’s arms as he always does. Instead, Hannibal finds himself lying alone as his boy rolls back onto his side, away from him. Within minutes Face is breathing deeply and steadily, asleep once more, and Hannibal is far too exhausted to wonder at that for too long. He’d asked for space, after all, and Face is giving him that, even if this wasn’t exactly what Hannibal meant. But his arms feel empty as he tries to adjust to not holding his boy, and it takes him a long time to follow his lover into sleep.

The next morning, Hannibal reaches automatically for Face when he wakes up, stretching slowly and luxuriously in their soft bed. They have a few days off now before they leave for their next mission, no reason to get up early, and no alarms have been set. But Face is gone. It takes him a long moment to realise, groping blindly as he is, unwilling to open his eyes to the brightness of the morning, but Face is gone. Hannibal is alone in the bed.

This doesn’t happen, ever. Face hates getting up early, and it normally takes everything Hannibal has to get his boy out of bed, even after years of Army training – his boy is still a teenager at heart, hiding beneath the blankets, desperate to stay asleep just five minutes longer. But not today. It’s so strange that Hannibal gets up himself, his lazy morning forgotten, and starts his morning routine. No Face to share a shower with, which is actually a bit of a luxury, and the kitchen is blissfully quiet when Hannibal eventually wanders downstairs. BA is sat at the table, eating cereal and reading the paper, but he isn’t much of a morning person either and greets Hannibal with a simple grunt, which Hannibal returns as he gets himself coffee.

Quiet, except for the rustle of pages as the two men read their respective newspapers. Quiet that is shattered when Face and Murdock burst through the front door in running gear, both a little out of breath and very sweaty after apparently having been for a long run, laughing together and clearly in good spirits as they pile into the kitchen. They fall silent at BA’s withering glare, and Face meets Hannibal’s gaze with a wide smile and a nod.

It might just be Hannibal’s imagination, but Face hesitates ever so slightly before he steps closer, pressing a quick kiss to Hannibal’s cheek and whispering, “Morning, lover.” 

It might just be Hannibal’s imagination, but Murdock narrows his eyes ever slightly in a frown as he nods his own good morning, before the pair of them are gone to wash up. 

It must just be Hannibal’s imagination, he decides, as Face seems perfectly happy after his shower. He doesn’t bring up the conversation from last night, he just gets on with things, and Hannibal is pleased to see maybe his words had the right effect. Face doesn’t shy away when Hannibal leans in for a kiss, but he isn’t right there all the time either. Of course, that could just be because he and Murdock are playing that stupid computer game most of the day, or because he goes with BA to the shops that afternoon looking for some part for the van. Whatever the reason, Hannibal gets to spend a quiet day in his own home, a day without his lover pressed close to his side, chattering on all the time, demanding to be touched or held or hugged. 

It’s heaven. Hannibal gets to do whatever he wants without Face being right there all the time, though all three of his boys are in and out of the house all day, of course, since they all live there together. The space feels incredible, as if he can breathe at last, and Hannibal wonders why he’d never said anything before, even if he does still feel more than a little guilty for the way he snapped last night. He really should say something to Face, just to clarify what he meant, but his lover seems to have gotten the right idea at least.

And it isn’t just one day, either. Miraculously, Face really takes Hannibal’s words to heart and seems to give him more space as the days go by, careful not to slip back into his old habits. Hannibal sees moments when Face starts to reach out for him, either stretching to hold his hand or moving to slip arms around his waist, but his boy visibly catches himself and pulls his hands back to his sides, or buries them in his own pockets. Hannibal offers him a nod or a smile, wanting to show his lover that he appreciates the effort, and he does. He really does. 

When they sit together in the evening, the four of them watching a film or just mindlessly flicking through the television channels, Face still heads automatically for Hannibal’s chair before stopping dead, correcting his course and heading instead for the sofa where Murdock is already curled up. Hannibal does feel a twinge of guilt when the pilot lifts an arm for Face to crawl under, throwing a reproachful look in his direction, but then he stretches out his long legs and adjusts the cushions at his back and reminds himself this is what he wanted. Face is fine, obviously.

They have to go into work for a few hours in the middle of the week, despite being on supposed down-time, and there is no apparent tension between them as they go through their meetings in preparation for their next trip abroad. The sight of his lover in his uniform does what it always does to Hannibal, and he eventually gives in to the urge to pull Face into his tiny office and lock the door behind them, bending his boy over the desk and gagging him roughly as they both quickly find their release, Face willing putty in his hands as always. 

In fact, Face comes to him whenever Hannibal asks, whenever Hannibal holds out a hand for his boy, tugging him in for a soft kiss, but he doesn’t come to Hannibal anymore. He doesn’t say a word about it, all full of smiles as he always is, but he keeps his distance when they are at home. He sits on the opposite side of the dining table at dinner, next to BA rather than Hannibal, while Murdock serves up some unrecognisable dish involving roasted pheasant and a pea milkshake all in the same bowl – as always, it tastes better than it looks, tastes amazing in fact, but Hannibal finds himself feeling unexpectedly as if half his body is missing, without Face’s leg right against his own. 

In fact, it isn’t as good as he expected, if he’s honest with himself, once the novelty has worn off. To his surprise, he misses having his hand claimed by Face the moment they get inside the house, and he has to physically stop himself reaching out to hold his boy’s hand instead. The lack of chatter is starting to get to him as well – of course the house isn’t completely quiet, not with Murdock and BA sniping at each other good-naturedly as they always do, but Face is noticeably more quiet than usual and Hannibal finds he misses the sound of his lover’s voice, asking his opinions on pointless things just to get him to speak up. 

Turns out, having space and quiet isn’t all he thought it would be. Turns out, his mind and body have become too used to having Face close at all times. This distance between them just feels wrong.

He sits on the sofa that night rather than in his chair, intending to tug Face close to his side, but before he can even offer he watches his boy drop into a beanbag chair instead, BA teasing him that he’ll never be able to get out of it without help. Hannibal tells himself his arm doesn’t ache, that he doesn’t need to hold Face, not really, that it’s a good thing he has both hands free when Murdock starts dancing on the coffee table and tumbles straight into Hannibal’s lap.

Face is still the most responsive lover Hannibal has ever known, and not a night goes by without them making love in various different positions. He even breaks out some of the toys he knows his boy adores, even if some of them do make Hannibal himself blush, and they play together until the early hours of the morning. But still Face rolls away from him when they are done, even though he does let Hannibal spoon up behind him at least. It isn’t enough, though, not nearly. Not after a decade of having Face curled up around his side when they are in this bed together, his boy’s head pillowed on his shoulder.

None of it is enough, not even remotely, and as their week draws to a close Hannibal realises just how stupid he’s been. Whatever was going through his mind, whatever reason he was feeling suffocated by Face’s close attentions, he must have been mad. Perhaps he should see one of Murdock’s psychiatrists, or just fall to his knees at his boy’s feet and beg for forgiveness. Tell Face he was just being a selfish old man – that will make his boy laugh, surely, and then they can get back to business as usual. 

No time, though, not with their next deployment nearly upon them. It might be two or three months before they are back in their own house, or even longer if something else comes up – they are all used to being sent on last minute missions at the drop of a hat. Warlords and terrorists don’t care about their holiday plans, certainly, and the Army make full use of Hannibal Smith and his Alpha Unit, the best team the military have ever seen. Hannibal is proud of that fact, so proud of all his boys, but right now he wishes he could beg for just a few more days before they leave. Some time for him to find a way to talk to Face, to fix this mess.

Because Face isn’t happy, Hannibal can tell. Sure he smiles and laughs and jokes, sure he comes when Hannibal asks, but that light in his eyes is gone. The light that shines so brightly when Hannibal gives him the attention he needs, the attention he used to ask for. And Hannibal has no idea how to fix it, not when they are getting on a military transport tomorrow morning, when he and Face will have to pull apart even further as they always do when they are working, CO and XO once more rather than lovers.

He decides that he’ll talk to his boy that night, in bed, when he can pull Face into his arms and kiss away the worry he knows his lover has been trying to hide. He can’t let this linger between them any longer, not with a string of dangerous missions awaiting them. As difficult as it will be – he’s never been any good at talking about his emotions, struggling to find the right words, far preferring to let his actions speak for him – he will try to explain what he’s been feeling, try to put Face at ease once more. 

Of course, this plan doesn’t work out at well as he hopes. The moment he and Face climb into bed together, the moment he strokes his hand gently up his boy’s ribs in invitation, Face is all over him with a desperation Hannibal has rarely seen. Their lovemaking is fierce and passionate, Hannibal leaving a string of bites over his lover’s chest, while Face rakes his short nails down Hannibal’s back to leave marks of his own. Two hours and two orgasms later – three for Face – they finally collapse onto the bed, exhausted and sated, and Hannibal simply can’t find the strength to talk to his lover. 

As Face tries to roll away, though, Hannibal does manage to pull him back, cradling his boy in his arms as he used to do, tugging on those long limbs until Face is wrapped around his side once more, head cushioned on Hannibal’s shoulder. Face tenses for the briefest second, but they are both so exhausted that within moments Hannibal feels his lover melt into his body, soft little huffs of breath ghosting across his neck as Face falls into a deep sleep.

When the alarm goes off at some ridiculous hour of the morning, Face is miraculously still in his arms, and Hannibal kisses him awake gently, sad they haven’t got more time together to talk. It will have to wait now, no other option, and soon they are up and moving, back to the base, then on to the transport, and off to see what new missions await them, Murdock and BA both close by their sides.

In the end, what should have been at least two months’ worth of missions is only three weeks, only a single, dangerous mission. It will be recorded as a successful mission as all objectives were achieved, a terrorist ring dismantled and the leaders behind bars, but for Hannibal and his team it was nothing but a complete and utter failure due to the plane crash during their return to camp. 

No one had realised the fuel tank had been struck by a stray bullet during their escape, and Murdock had struggled to keep the plane from dropping straight out of the sky when one engine had suddenly exploded in a huge fireball. Face had managed to strap BA into a parachute, the big man thankfully unconscious due to a heavy dose of sedatives, and he had managed to get both of them out of the aircraft safely, while Hannibal stayed with Murdock as long as he could. The pilot had eventually ordered him from the cockpit, just seconds before he’d lost all control, and they had both still been inside when the plane crashed into the desert.

Hannibal had walked away with some bruises and a few minor burns, while both Face and BA had landed in the desert with no incidents, but Murdock had been badly injured. He would recover fully, the doctors assured them, his burns would most likely not leave any scars, and the broken leg and arm were already healing well. The concussion had been more of a worry at first, but the pilot was finally awake and talking, teasing BA when he hovered anxiously and begging Face to break him out of hospital. He’d been transferred back to Benning at last after a week in Germany, forced to stay in the base hospital for monitoring overnight before being allowed home, BA refusing to leave his side. And so Hannibal returns to their home with Face alone, both of them exhausted and stressed, and all he wants to do is pull his lover into his arms and celebrate being alive, before collapsing into their bed and sleeping for days.

But he forgets, for one blissful moment, the unresolved issues they have, him and Face. The mess he’d made of everything, before they left.

Once the door closes behind them, once the cruel outside world is locked out, once they are finally alone in their safe place, Hannibal waits for the moment Face will turn to him and take his hand, pulling him into a tight hug, standing on his tiptoes and begging for a kiss. He longs for the moment his lover reaches out for him, needs that contact and that normality himself.

But Face walks away without a word, into the depths of the house, leaving Hannibal standing alone in the hallway, his open hand reaching out and finding nothing. And he shivers, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing hard. This can’t go on. He has to say something.

When he makes his way slowly into the kitchen Face is already making coffee, and Hannibal finds he can’t resist the need to hold his boy tightly. He crosses the room and slides his arms around Face’s slender waist, resting his chin on a strong shoulder as his lover keeps moving, reaching for two mugs and the instant coffee, a sign of how exhausted he is – normally, at home, Face refuses to drink anything that doesn’t come out of his expensive coffee machine, but it takes ten minutes to warm up and he clearly can’t wait. Hannibal moves with him, noticing unhappily how Face doesn’t push him away but doesn’t encourage him either.

“You okay?” he murmurs eventually, when Face finally stills in his embrace, waiting for the kettle to boil. His boy has his hands braced on the counter, rather than reaching up to hold Hannibal in return. “Murdock’s gonna be okay, kid, you heard the doctors.”

“I know, boss. And BA’s so busy fussing over him that he seems to have forgotten we drugged him and dragged him onto a plane that promptly crashed.” Face’s voice is quiet but calm, and Hannibal tilts his head to try to kiss his lover’s long neck. But Face twists away. “Don’t,” he murmurs, suddenly tense in Hannibal’s arms.

Hannibal tightens his hold for a second before dropping his arms away and stepping back, throat tight with emotion. “I’m sorry,” he says as his boy turns to face him. “I messed up, kid.”

“The crash wasn’t your fault, Hannibal. Not even you could have planned for that.” 

“Not what I mean, Face. I messed up with us. I pushed you away in a moment of stupidity, and I never stopped to explain myself or to apologise. I was wrong.” Face starts shaking his head before Hannibal even finishes speaking, running one hand through his messy hair as the kettle finally boils.

“You weren’t wrong, though. Everything you said was right.” Face offers him a tired smile before turning back to the coffee. “I never thought about it before, but you really were right. I was all over you. And I never thought that, maybe, you didn’t like that. So, whatever, okay?”

“Whatever?” Hannibal is confused now, and he tries to reach for his boy as Face neatly sidesteps him. “Kid, I’m apologising here. I was wrong. I missed you.”

“Whatever,” Face repeats softly, his shoulders visibly slumping. “Whatever you need from me, John, that’s what I’ll be. Whatever you want me to do, all you have to do is ask. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me, but I won’t risk losing you. I won’t be the one to suffocate you. I love you too much for that.”

Heart breaking with each word his lover utters, Hannibal hangs his head and wonders how he can ever fix this. “Face, I love you too, and you have to know I didn’t mean any of that – ”

“I don’t think I want coffee anymore.” Face is suddenly on the move, dodging around Hannibal’s reaching arms and vanishing out of the door without ever making eye contact. “I’ll grab a shower and head to bed. Let you have some space.” And those parting words pierce Hannibal’s chest, making it hard to breathe. Instead of following his boy from the room, he drops down onto one of the dining chairs, mind going round in circles, eyes filling with tears he refuses to let fall.

He’s ruined this. The best relationship he’s ever had, the man he can’t imagine ever living without – he’s ruined it. And he has no idea how to fix it. 

Face is already asleep by the time Hannibal follows him up the stairs, still wearing his t-shirt and boxers beneath the covers, and the older man simply doesn’t have the heart to wake him after a long week of worry about Murdock, and the stress of the mission beforehand. Once more he spoons up behind his boy, Face barely stirring as he slips a tentative arm around his chest, and Hannibal falls asleep to a disturbed night of dreams where he tries again and again to reach for his lover while Face only pushes him away, laughing.

The following morning, Face is up before him, already stepping out of the bathroom wearing only a towel around his waist, as Hannibal blinks himself slowly awake. After a long minute of watching his boy get dressed and tidy up their bedroom, not once looking over at him, Hannibal finally dares to speak up. “Temp, we have to talk, please…”

“Not right now, boss.” Face snags a pair of socks from a drawer and hops slightly as he pulls them on one at a time without stopping to sit. “Murdock will be climbing the walls already – got to see if they’ll let him out today.”

“Face, stop.” To Hannibal’s surprise, Face does exactly that, turning to him where he still lies in bed, and meeting his eyes at last. He holds out a hand to his boy, but Face makes no move to take it. “Come here, kid. It’s okay.”

A slight pause before Face takes a half step closer, taking his hand but resisting when Hannibal tries to pull him back down onto the bed. “Boss, we have to get going…”

“We have to talk, Face, please. You have to let me apologise, and explain – ”

“Not now, John. I get it, and you don’t have to apologise.” And with that, Face leans in closer to give Hannibal the most gentle kiss good morning, before he is off again and moving. With a sigh, Hannibal throws back the covers and follows his lover. To be fair, Murdock will almost certainly be driving both the doctors and BA mad after an enforced night in the hospital – there will be time to talk to Face once they have their whole team back home, together where they belong.

But of course, it doesn’t work out like that. They do get to take Murdock home, much to the relief of the medics who have had enough of the crazy pilot already after one single night, and with one arm and one leg in plaster he needs a lot of help. Life at the house becomes focussed around keeping Murdock comfortable, and keeping him safe from himself – he thinks nothing of trying to chase after his invisible dog, or climbing the stairs as normal, and he needs constant babysitting, though of course Hannibal, Face and BA don’t call it that. They each take it in turns to stay with him, playing computer games or watching cartoons, and Hannibal finds he has virtually no time alone with Face at all, not even when BA is sitting with Murdock.

There’s always an excuse, Hannibal realises with a pang. Face takes over the cooking since Murdock obviously can’t be chef as normal – he can only manage basic pasta and sauces or steak and vegetables, but it’s good basic food nonetheless. He’s a blur of action whenever Hannibal ventures into the kitchen, leaving him no chance to get close or to start a meaningful conversation. And if he isn’t cooking, he’s cleaning and tidying – not usually something Face enjoys, but he’s obviously trying to keep busy, trying to keep out of Hannibal’s way. Giving him space.

Just as Hannibal asked, all those weeks ago. And that just makes his heart hurt. 

If Face won’t stop and talk, Hannibal decides he’ll go back to his usual standby and show his boy exactly what he means. All the little things Face used to do, all the things that used to annoy him, all the things he misses so very much – Hannibal decides he can do all those things. Face isn’t coming to him for attention anymore, but he still isn’t ducking away when Hannibal does manage to catch him for a kiss or a hug, on the few opportunities they get while caring for Murdock.

So, plan in hand, Hannibal goes to work. All the things Face used to do, holding his hand, sneaking in for a cuddle – he can do that. And he does.

When Face is in the kitchen, Hannibal hovers close, trying to engage him in conversation, one hand on his shoulder squeezing gently. In the evening, if they aren’t sitting with Murdock, Hannibal stays up on his feet until Face settles, either in the chair or on the sofa, then he goes to sit right by his side, draping an arm around his boy’s shoulders to guide him closer. When he goes outside for a cigar, he tries to catch hold of Face’s hand and tug him gently out with him, pressing their bodies close as they always used to be. It feels good to have his boy back by his side, though it still hurts that Face doesn’t come to him anymore, hasn’t picked up on Hannibal’s little signs that it’s okay to want to be close.

In fact, Face seems more unhappy and confused as the days go by, even as he throws himself into looking after his best friend. Hannibal knows that the very fact he can spot these changes in his lover are signs that he should worry – Face is skilled at putting on a mask for the whole world to see, but he’s completely failing at hiding this. Murdock, despite his injuries, has clearly spotted something is wrong, obviously having had his suspicions even before they went out for this last disastrous mission, and he tells Hannibal in no uncertain terms that he needs to fix things.

“Whatever you did, Colonel, you got to sort it out. He’s miserable, and he doesn’t know what to do.” Murdock is lying on the couch, for once, rather than in his bed, his leg propped up on a mountain of pillows and his arm in a large sling. “You know how he gets – he lives for all those little touches and gestures, but you’ve confused the hell out of him.”

Hannibal doesn’t even bother denying that the problem is all his fault. It is, and he knows it.

“I’m trying, Murdock. But he won’t talk to me.” But, of course, Face chooses that moment to enter the room with an armful of chips and dips, and the opportunity to ask the pilot’s advice is lost as Hannibal has to step aside, letting his boy be with his best friend.

Even BA seems to notice, but he won’t say anything, won’t ever interfere with the relationship between his boss and his lieutenant. But he does frown hard at Hannibal when Face finds an excuse to slip away from him once again, sighing and shaking his dark head before heading back to Murdock’s side. 

Hannibal steps up his game, following Face around the house the way his boy used to follow him. Face can’t avoid him forever, surely. And eventually, it seems to pay off – Face lets Hannibal follow him into their bedroom early one evening before closing the door, leaning back against it with his arms folded over his chest in a defensive gesture.

“Enough already, Hannibal – what do you want?” Resignation in Face’s voice, worry in his eyes, and Hannibal sits hesitantly on the edge of their bed before replying.

“I want things the way they always were, Face,” he confesses. “I miss you being by my side. I just miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“Not the way you always were.”

Face shakes his head slowly, tightening his arms around himself. “You said I was suffocating you, following you around all the time. You said you needed space, so I gave you space, but now you’re following me around instead. What do you want from me, John? Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“That’s not how this works, kid.” Face looks so miserable that Hannibal can’t sit still any longer. In a heartbeat he is up off the bed and across the room, tugging his boy away from the door until he can wrap his arms tightly around that muscular body, guiding Face’s head under his chin. “Oh baby, I messed up so badly. I was so wrong to say what I said; you never suffocated me, ever. I never knew how much I needed you close until you pulled away.”

“You pushed me away.” The words, when they come, are muffled into Hannibal’s chest, but Face’s voice is strong despite the slight shaking of his limbs. “But you were right. I never realised how close I stayed to you, when we were in the house. When I started thinking about it, well, you were right about everything.”

“No, I was wrong. I was stupid to say I wanted space. I don’t – can we just forget I ever said anything? Can we just go back to the way things were? I want you to feel like you can reach for me anytime you want, whether that’s to hold my hand or to hug me or to sit in my lap, or just to talk.” Hannibal starts to rock Face ever so slightly, searching desperately for the words he needs to fix everything. “This relationship isn’t just about me, kid, it’s about both of us. Whatever you need, I want to give to you. I love you.”

Face pulls back at that, and Hannibal reluctantly lets him go, dropping his hands to rest on his boy’s hips. “And I love you,” Face tells him, blue eyes shining brightly. “But I don’t know where the boundaries are anymore. I can’t just go back to the way things were, because I wasn’t ever aware of it before. I never thought about how much I needed to be close to you. Now… Now it’s all I can think about, when I should be thinking about Murdock.”

“Murdock’s doing fine,” Hannibal soothes. “And we can work on this together – I had a bad night, that night when I pushed you away. I snapped at you when I shouldn’t have.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to climb all over you when you were reading.”

Hannibal has to smile a little at that, lifting one hand to gently stroke his lover’s stubbly cheek, encouraged when Face doesn’t turn away. “Maybe. But we should have talked about it, I shouldn’t have left you to guess at what I meant.”

His boy smiles back, but the smile doesn’t quite reach those blue eyes. Better, but not quite perfect just yet. “So what now?” Face asks softly. “Some sort of secret signal when you want me to make myself scarce?”

“I never want you to make yourself scarce. I just want you to be yourself, Temp. That’s all I ever want from you.” Hannibal pours every ounce of sincerity he has into his words, and Face’s smile becomes a little more natural, those bright blue eyes lighting up as he leans into Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal slides his other hand up from his boy’s hip under his loose shirt, sliding his palm over the smooth skin of Face’s side and around to his lower back. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, leaning down to claim his lover’s lip in a passionate kiss, tilting Face back until he is leaning on the door once more.

Barely a second later, Face’s arms snap up and around Hannibal’s back as he deepens the kiss, arching his body into Hannibal’s. There’s only one way this can go now, and both of them want it, both of them need it, but Hannibal doesn’t want this to just be about him taking what he needs. He has to show Face that it is about him too, about him above all else, and so he breaks the kiss, feeling guilty for a second as his boy whimpers at the loss.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers, pressing his lips to his lover’s cheek, and Face just clutches at him tighter.

“You, John. I just need you.” 

But that isn’t enough; Hannibal knows his boy can do better than that. “Where do you need me?” he asks, feeling Face shudder in his arms.

“Bed,” Face gasps, dropping his head to Hannibal’s shoulder and sucking in a huge breath. “Right now…”

That’s a start, at least, and Hannibal willingly obliges, lifting his lover straight up into his arms and carrying him to their bed, laying him down tenderly and following him down onto the mattress, hovering close above him. “And then…?” he prompts, gifting Face with another kiss on the lips. “What do you need me to do now?”

“John, I… I can’t…” Face clings to his shoulders as Hannibal tries to pull back a fraction, needing to get enough room to undress them both when his boy asks. A blush spreads visibly across his cheeks and down his neck, tanned skin turning bright pink. “I just… need you…”

They’ve tried this before, Hannibal suddenly remembers, as he drops his head to suckle at his lover’s flushed neck, biting gently over his pulse point. Face isn’t good at asking for what he wants, neither inside the bedroom nor outside, relying on little signs and hints dropped in the hope Hannibal will pick them up. For all his silver-tongued charm in the rest of his life, for all the skills that can con and scam and talk anyone into anything, he won’t ask directly for anything for himself. A childhood of knowing and expecting that the answer will always be ‘no’, no point wasting the time to ask – a difficult habit to break, surely.

But Hannibal has always been able to read his boy like an open book. Has always been able to pick up on those signs and hints, has loved looking for them, both in their personal and professional lives. No dirty talk in their bedroom, not really, never anything more than simple begging – and this is all a part of it, he realises now. Face can’t ask for the affection he needs, not even something as simple as a hug or a kiss, never has been able to. That’s why he asks in more subtle ways.

Taking pity on his lover as the realisation floods through him, Hannibal manages to work a hand between them to start unbuckling his boy’s belt and asks, “You need me to strip you naked?”

“Yes!” Face hisses, his hands starting to tear at Hannibal’s shirt. 

“You need me to make love to you? Make you shout my name as I take you to heaven?” Hannibal is blushing himself a little bit now, aware that there is a second reason they don’t do this – he can’t do it either. They are both men of action, not men of words, and so he swallows Face’s murmur of agreement in a burning kiss as he finally gets that belt off, but yet again things don’t go according to plan. From somewhere in the house there comes a scream – Murdock – followed by a deep voice shouting – BA – and a clang and a thud, and Hannibal and Face break apart immediately, both breathing more than a little hard.

Murdock’s voice calls out, “We’re okay!” But they have to go check, of course they do – it isn’t fair to BA to leave him to cope with their wacky pilot alone for too long, and so Hannibal places one last gentle kiss on his boy’s lips before lifting off and away, extending a hand to help Face to his feet.

They stand together for a second before moving into a quick embrace, and then Hannibal lets his hands slide down to his boy’s waist once more, reluctant to let him go even now. “Are we okay?” he asks Face tentatively, a frown threatening to descend when his lover pauses, thinking.

“We will be.” And Face smiles at him again – a wide and natural smile, not one of his cons – before another scream makes them hurry to go find the other half of their team. There will be time later for making love, for reading each other without the need for words, and Hannibal is determined Face will never have to ask out loud for anything ever again, not unless he wants to. Whatever his boy needs, whatever he comes to Hannibal in search of, he’ll find. 

Murdock is just fine – turns out he was trying to bake a cake, of all things, having slipped out of bed when BA stepped out to use the bathroom – and the rest of the evening is swiftly swallowed up by pizza for dinner and a movie, the three of them scattered around the living room with their injured team mate laid out on the sofa like a king. At some point, Murdock starts demanding chocolate chip ice cream, and of course there’s only vanilla and strawberry in their freezer, so Face and Hannibal volunteer to run out to the shop.

And when they step back inside the house twenty minutes later, laden with several different tubs of ice cream as well as wafers and sauces and various different toppings, the second the door closes behind them and the outside world is locked away, Face reaches for Hannibal’s hand and squeezes tight, blue eyes shining happily.

And Hannibal knows at that moment, everything will be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for ATeam_Prompts:
> 
> Face is needy, like really needy; he requires a lot of attention, affection and physical contact. Touching, hand holding, cuddling, just being really close to each other as much as possible. At first Hannibal is happy to give Face whatever he needs, but maybe he didn't realize he needed quite this much, maybe it's not something he really has any interest in himself. At some point, perhaps when Hannibal's trying to focus on some work and Face wants to take a nap on his shoulder, Hannibal breaks, he needs some space and denies Face his need.
> 
> Anyone up to write a bit of emotional hurt/comfort? (with a happy ending, preferably)


End file.
